Day 106

Joshua 23–24 | Acts 7:1–32 | Psalm 46

He knew he was near the end.

The war was behind him. The land was divided. His time was short.

So Joshua gathered the people and gave them one final charge.

A call to remember.

A call to choose.

“If it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve… But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15)

It’s a verse we put on plaques and coffee mugs.

But for Joshua, this wasn’t decoration. It was declaration.

The Courage to Choose When Others Won’t

Joshua didn’t wait to see what everyone else would do.

He didn’t say, “We’ll serve the Lord if you do too.”

He planted his flag in the ground and spoke for his family.

Not with arrogance.

Not with swagger.

But with clarity.

Because someone has to go first.

Someone has to lead when the culture hesitates.

Someone has to say, “Even if no one else follows—I will.”

And Joshua didn’t outsource that to his leaders, or to the priests, or to the next generation.

He spoke as a father.

A man.

A leader of a house that belonged to God.

When Leading Doesn’t Feel Heroic

I read this and feel the weight of it.

Because I want to lead my family with that kind of boldness.

But most days, I don’t feel like a leader. I feel like a man just trying to keep his head above water.

Trying to trust God when the job uncertainty won’t lift.

Trying to model steadiness when my emotions are anything but.

Trying to guide my daughter when her heart is tender, her questions are complex, and the world around her is loud.

Trying to shepherd my home when I’m still working through my own fear and fatigue.

And this week?

It’s spring break. And it’s a quiet one.

Our closest friends out of town with other friends. Our driveway empty. Our calendar blank. The kind of stillness that feels pretty lonely.

We’re here—just the three of us in our little house—looking ahead to Easter with family, holding space for what’s coming, and trying to live faithfully in the in-between.

I’ve said those words—“As for me and my house…”—before.

But saying them now, in this season, feels less like a banner and more like a battle cry.

Because when the job is uncertain, when the surgeries are on the horizon, when the mirror reflects more questions than answers—

That’s when I have to remind myself: my family doesn’t need a hero. They need a man who has already decided whom we serve.

What I Hope She Remembers

Some days when I talk or pray with Sophia, I wonder if she hears certainty or struggle in my voice. I want her to know the God I serve—not just the rules I teach.

I want her to remember a dad who wasn’t perfect, but who kept showing up—hands scarred, heart stretched, voice steady—not because it was easy, but because he believed God was worth it.

I don’t need her to think I always got it right.

I just want her to know I was holding fast to something real.

And maybe that’s what Joshua wanted too—not a legacy of perfection, but of resolve. A house that stayed faithful, even when it was hard, even when others turned away.

A Personal Gospel, A Public Faith

Joshua didn’t invite Israel into generic spirituality.

He laid out the facts—God’s faithfulness, their idolatry, and the call to choose.

And then he modeled it.

He didn’t pressure them.

He didn’t negotiate.

He simply lived what he believed.

That’s the kind of man I want to be.

Not one who needs the crowd.

But one who has counted the cost.

Who has seen the goodness of God up close—and says, “Even if no one else remembers, I will.”

The Legacy of a Decision

Joshua never saw revival in his lifetime.

But he did see resolve.

The people followed the Lord during his days.

Sometimes obedience doesn’t change the world.

It just holds the line.

It just keeps a family tethered.

It just keeps the flame lit for the next generation.

And that’s enough.

⸻

Lord, help me lead my house like Joshua. Not in my strength, but in Yours. When the future feels uncertain, help me anchor in what’s unchanging—Your Word, Your goodness, Your faithfulness. I want to live what I say I believe. I want my home to follow You not out of pressure, but out of love. Give me courage to stand—even if I’m standing alone. Because You are worthy. And You are enough.

Amen.